


We Attack At Dawn

by QueenOfRohirrim



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Baking, Brothers, Family Fluff, Feeding the witcher sons is a serious task, Fluff and Humor, Gen, He and Jaskier are friends, Kaer Morhen, M/M, Papa Vesemir
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:13:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24051892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenOfRohirrim/pseuds/QueenOfRohirrim
Summary: Three fully grown witchers shouldn’t be fighting over food, but really nothing about Geralt and his brothers surprises Jaskier anymore.
Relationships: Eskel & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Lambert, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion & Vesemir
Comments: 27
Kudos: 685





	We Attack At Dawn

**Author's Note:**

> I’ll say it again, I am so grateful for all of the comments and support I’ve been getting on these stories! Thank you all!! You’re lovely!!

The young wolves had all retired early for the night, sleepy and worn from a long day of repairing the outer walls.  
Geralt had been the last to leave for bed, not wanting to abandon Jaskier to an evening of solitude. 

“Geralt,” Jaskier had argued with him, or rather, at him, more than a handful of times throughout the night. “I don’t need to be constantly supervised, my dear. You need to rest. Please go upstairs and sleep.”

The witcher never really answered. He just refused to obey. 

“Geralt, truly, I don’t mind being alone for a bit.” Jaskier had tried again. “I can work on some new material, maybe read for a bit by the fire, have myself a nice soothing cup of tea, and then I’ll come up to join you.”

“Hmm.” Geralt grunted, this particular sound being softer than the usual noises he made at his bard. He was losing the battle with sleep and this final push from Jaskier seemed to have done the trick at last. The white wolf finally agreed to retire to their bedroom for the night, kissing Jaskier softly before he dragged himself up the stairs.

Jaskier found himself finally having a bit of alone time, with no wolves rolling around in a wrestling match at his feet, and no bickering or enthused shouts of victory stemming from any of the three brothers’ little games. It was nice. Not something that he wanted to have about too often, ofcourse, but nice for once in awhile.

The bard was busying himself with his journal when Vesemir came out from his study.

“Pups have all gone to bed, I take it?” The old wolf inquired when Jaskier, sitting alone for the first time in weeks, looked up to him with a friendly smile from his chair by the fire. 

“They’re all fast asleep and dreaming.” The bard confirmed. He was fairly certain that he could hear Eskel snoring in his room on the castle’s third level, even without the blessing of a witcher’s senses.

Vesemir chuckled. He could obviously hear it, even if Jaskier was only imagining the sound. “They finished the repairs today.” He informed his son’s partner. “I know how tired they all must be. Figured I’d reward them in the morning with their favorite breakfast.”

Jaskier knew what that was, funnily enough. Geralt had told him in the midst of poking fun at his own cooking while they were traveling through Temeria a few years back.

“Pumpkin sweet rolls?” The bard inquired of the Witcher patriarch, who raised a brow at him, quite surprised by the knowledge. 

“Either Geralt told you that,” He said. “Or you can read minds. Which one is it?”

“I don’t really read minds so much as I’m good at reading people, but yes, Geralt let me in on that little tidbit.” Jaskier confirmed, setting his lute and journal aside. “He hates my cooking. Fantasizes about yours all year round.”

Vesemir laughed.

“Why don’t you come give me a hand in the kitchen, lad?” He offered, taking his guest by surprise. “I can’t teach you everything but maybe I can show you a few tricks that’ll help on the path.”

Jaskier couldn’t very well refuse the chance to learn something from Vesemir, even if it was just a few basic cooking skills. 

“I’m glad to be of any help I can.” He agreed, standing from his spot near the hearth and following eagerly after the father wolf. “Now, in my defense, before any judgements are made, it’s rather difficult to make anything taste good on the path.”

Vesemir cracked another amused smile. “I understand.” He assured Jaskier, leading him to the kitchens past the dining hall. “I suppose we’re rather spoiled here with the pantries.”

“No no no, not spoiled at all.” Jaskier shook his head. “Such a luxury is well deserved, what with you all running across the continent fighting monsters for the rest of the year.”

Well deserved indeed. It was a lovely thing to see Geralt, as well as his brothers, feasting like beasts at the dinner table, scarfing down everything they could get their hands on first, their bellies slowly starting to fill out as Winter carried on. However, it was also saddening, thinking of how little the witchers were eating when they weren’t at Kaer Morhen.

Vesemir obviously regretted this as well, and he made every effort to insure his boys were well fed while they remained at home.

“Now, if time would allow...” The old wolf began to explain to Jaskier as he lit every candle that could burn around the kitchens. “...I’d be making these damn things every morning. The trouble is they take so long to prepare, and as if that weren’t reason enough to stop me, the pups go mad once they catch the scent.”

“Geralt did mention something about them fighting for the last few rolls on the plate.” The bard recalled, patiently waiting for instruction.

“Fighting? No.” Vesemir muttered, retreating to the pantries once he was satisfied that they had enough light to work. “It’s more like they go out on a damn warpath. I can’t cook and deal with the three of them at once, so when the sweet rolls are made, they can’t be around to know about it.”

“So that’s why we’re doing this after dark.” Jaskier nodded. 

“You catch on quickly.” Vesemir hummed his approval, surprising Jaskier when he placed an enormous pumpkin down on the counter before him. “Sleeping wolves can’t bother me while I work...You know how to clean a pumpkin, lad?”

Jaskier hummed, tapping the massive orange fruit with his finger. “I know how to get rid of the guts.” He replied honestly. “That’s about it.”

“Well, do that first. We’ll consider the rest of the process your first lesson.” Vesemir told him, returning to the pantry to grab everything else they needed. 

Jaskier nodded obidiently, rolling up his sleeves and picking up a large knife rather nervously. Already he was starting to think that maybe Geralt was right. Perhaps he didn’t have any business handling food.

...

At the end of the long night spent in the kitchens, Jaskier was feeling quite proud of himself.

He’d successfully aided in the preparing of one of his witcher’s favorite meals, and for once the food hadn’t turned out burnt, undercooked, or setting the area around them on fire! 

Of course, Vesemir could probably take most of the credit for the lack of burning stove tops, as well as the ultimately successful dish, but still, Geralt would surely be proud of his bard when he woke for breakfast in the morning.

“I think we’ve earned ourselves a drink.” Jaskier said to Vesemir, his head held high as he watched the old wolf pull the last batch of finished sweet rolls from the oven. 

“I think perhaps you’re right.” Vesemir agreed with a chuckle. “We’ll need to wait for these to cool before we can wrap them up for morning anyway. Let me get us some wine.”

Drinking with the Master of Kaer Morhen was something Jaskier had never imagined himself doing, but fuck, he was glad for the opportunity! It gave him the chance to inquire after stories about his lovely white wolf, and Vesemir was all too happy to talk of his boys, Geralt included.

“He’s always been rather reserved.” The old witcher explained after finishing up a tale that involved Geralt, a missed shot while hunting, and a broken hive of angry bees. “...But I do believe more words came out of him that day than he’s ever spoken in his life.”

Jaskier wiped at his eyes, which had begun to water as he’d been laughing. “I imagine they weren’t very kind words, either.” He continued to chuckle. 

“Not kind at all.” Vesemir confirmed, finishing off his wine before standing to put away the finished pastries that sat cooling all over the counter. “Alright, lad, listen closely...” He told Jaskier then. “As soon as the sun peeks around the mountains at dawn, the pups will be runnin’ down here for their food. I don’t want you to get involved. You’ll more than likely be trampled if you try.”

Jaskier nodded, an understanding smile on his face. “That’s alright. I really don’t need any...”

“You do.” Vesemir cut him off. “You deserve some of these for yourself and so do I. They’re a pain to make and we’ve earned our share.”

The bard chuckled again, watching the witcher closely as he continued his instructions for morning. 

“Here’s what we’re gonna do.” Vesemir told him, stacking a pile of sweet rolls onto a smaller plate than the first one he’d set aside for his boys. “I’ll take a few rolls and hide them somewhere the pups won’t be able to get to. Once you’ve woken up and had the rest of your meal, come find me and we’ll share these.” 

“I’d be honored.” Jaskier agreed without hesitating. He’d been hoping to get a taste of one of the sweet rolls anyway, and if sneaking a few without Geralt’s knowledge meant getting out of wrestling with him and his brothers at the break of dawn, there was no way the bard could possibly say no.

...

The moment the birds began to chirp in the grey skies of early morning, the wolf pups began to rise from their dens.

When they did, they were greeted immediately with the most pleasant plethora of scents. 

Warm bursts of cinnamon and nutmeg danced through the entire castle, joining with the sweet, decadent smell of baked pumpkin and sugar.

There were sweet rolls waiting downstairs.

Geralt pulled himself from Jaskier and jumped up from their bed, hurrying to the door without worrying about proper clothes. It seemed that his brothers had settled upon the same philosophy as well, as he’d barely left the bedroom before Eskel hurried from his own, racing toward the stairs.

Geralt blinked as he caught a glimpse of Lambert leaping down to the castle’s lowest level at lightening speed.

Fuck. 

He ran, catching up to Eskel, as they raced the trap Lambert before he made off with all of their food. There was an unspoken truce settled between the two elder wolves for now, though it would surely change soon.

“Geralt, don’t let him past you!” Eskel warned the brother at his side as they arrived to the dining hall to find the younger grabbing up all of the sweet rolls he could possibly carry.

“Little prick! You put those down!” Geralt growled, grabbing for Lambert when he panicked and rushed to make his escape. An impressive leap up onto the table and then over Geralt’s shoulder ensured his victory, and the older wolves turned on each other rather than giving chase.

It was no use to try and catch Lambert anyway. He was faster than them and could climb higher. More than likely, the younger wolf would find somewhere far above ground to hide away with his prize and mock his brothers who couldn’t reach him.

That only left one option for Eskel and Geralt, and that was to face each other instead. 

“How many are left?” Eskel asked, even as he was hurrying to check as well. 

“Fucker only left us eleven!” Geralt snarled. 

“Take five.” Eskel told his brother, reaching to grab five for himself as well. “We can settle who gets the last one after they’re gone.” 

There was a warning in his voice. Anyone else would have missed this, but Geralt didn’t. It was clear that this was going to be a battle.

“Fine.” The white wolf growled, settling down on one side of the mostly empty tray to enjoy the five sweet rolls before him. Eskel sat down across from his brother to do the same, and both pairs of eyes were ever watchful.

...

When Jaskier finally woke that morning, the sun had risen fully into the sky.

Geralt was gone from his usual spot beside him, he noticed straight away. Vesemir’s warning had been valid, it seemed. Apparently Jaskier had slept through the race to the sweet rolls, but he wasn’t about to miss out on his own breakfast, so he got out of bed, dressed, and went down to the dining hall alone.

He found Geralt there, locked into what looked to be a bit of a stalemate wrestling match with Eskel on the floor, and he stopped at the doorway to stare at the two witchers.

“Geralt?” He called out for his beloved wolf. “What’s going on? What’s this about?” As if he didn’t already know...

“Stay out of this, Jaskier.” Geralt hissed irritably, putting all of his weight into trying to flip his brother onto his back. Eskel wasn’t budging.

“You’re not getting the last damn sweet roll!” The scarred witcher swore, putting an equal amount of strength into trying to best his silver haired brother. Geralt refused to give up either. This was going to go on for awhile.

Jaskier looked to the table where the object of both of their desires sat all alone on its tray. 

“You’re fighting over a pastry?” He snorted at the witchers on the ground. “I don’t need to tell you both how childish that sounds, do I?”

They both growled at him for that one. Both of them. Even Eskel!

“It’s not that simple!” Geralt hissed through bared teeth. 

“Oh ofcourse, this is obviously personal now, isn’t it?” Jaskier hummed, moving to step around the battling pair. “Well, I’ll leave you gentlemen to it then. Just let me get through to get my porridge and eggs and I’ll be out of your way.”

Neither witcher paid Jaskier anymore mind as he grabbed a plate and sat down to observe the rest of their disagreement. In fact, Geralt and Eskel didn’t seem to be aware of anything but each other as they became enraged enough to start swearing back and forth. Everything and everyone else faded into the background, and that created the perfect conditions for a wicked opportunist to reappear. 

“Sleep well, Buttercup?” 

Jaskier squeaked, startled out of his mind, and his spoon flew across the table.

“Fucking bollocks!” He cursed, his hand flying to cover his pounding heart as he turned to look at Lambert. “Are you trying to kill me!?”

“Not as of yet.” The youngest witcher grinned slyly, looking from Jaskier to his bickering brothers on the floor. “They still at it? I thought one of them would’ve gotten tired by now.”

“I doubt they’ll be ready to quit for some time.” Jaskier muttered, standing to look for the spoon he’d dropped beneath the opposite side of the table. 

“Hmm, pity for them.” Lambert crooned with mock remorse, even as he reached out to take the sweet roll from its plate. “Lucky for me.”

Jaskier’s eyes widened when he stood again to see Geralt’s little brother happily munching away on the last precious pastry. 

“Want a bite?” The bastard had the nerve to offer.

“No thank you. I rather enjoy being alive.” Jaskier declined, appalled yet somewhat impressed. 

“Hmm. We all have our differences don’t we?” Lambert hummed a morbid jest, finishing off the last piece of the sweet roll before getting up from the table. “There. Now let’s see how long it takes them to notice it’s gone.”

“You do that.” Jaskier stood up quickly to leave the hall. “I have some pressing matters to discuss with Vesemir.”


End file.
